


What I Want

by Zoadgo



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Biting, Blood Drinking, Bloodplay, Bruises, Dark!Bellamy, Dark!Clarke, F/M, Knifeplay, Marking, Masochism, Name Calling, Power Play, Sadism, Whipping, face fucking, mentions of bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-09
Updated: 2014-05-09
Packaged: 2018-01-24 04:02:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1590929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoadgo/pseuds/Zoadgo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sharp bite of the blade, the dull bite of teeth. Pain, pleasure, hate, love, lust, heat, passion. Clarke wants it all. And the princess gets what she wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What I Want

**Author's Note:**

> This is quite a violent smut one-shot. Please check the tags before reading. Note, this is sort of OOC for Bellamy and Clarke, I wanted to write what would have happened if they had enjoyed torturing Lincoln.

Clarke smiles at Monty as he shows her a new prototype of… something, she honestly doesn’t know or care what it is. The smile feels fake to her, but he seems to accept it with a smile of his own and eventually leaves when she says she’ll take it into consideration. As soon as he exits her tent, she drops the smile and sighs.

She knows she should be caring about whatever that was, knows she should enjoy working with Monty, knows she shouldn’t be so tumultuous inside. But ever since Bellamy walked into the drop ship and brought the Grounder into their lives, she’d been unable to find peace. Things that brought her joy or peace before only upset and frustrate her now. She’s been trying to keep it under wraps, trying to ignore it, but she knows it’s been leaking into her daily life. She snapped at Raven the other day, slapped Finn, and had become generally aggressive towards everyone who she’d enjoyed the company of in the past.

Just thinking about her own erratic behaviour sets her teeth grinding, so Clarke gets up and leaves her tent. She tries to school a mildly pleasant, or at least impassive, look on her face, but the people scrambling out of her way seem to tell her that she failing. Her face twists into another grin at the thrill of power this gives her, but there’s nothing pleasant about it. Her smile is predatory and vicious, matching the dark beast that she feels stirring within her.

She makes it to the fence without being challenged and passes the guards. They start to ask her where she’s going, probably, but she shoots them a dark look that shuts them up and brings her smile back full force. Why should she try to suppress this side of herself? It’s so much fun, the control, the fear, the feeling that she could do anything and get away with it. The small part of her rational brain tries to trace this behaviour back to its roots as she storms through the forest and the darkness easily supplies the answer.

She needed the antidote for Finn, and the Grounder wasn’t cooperating. Bellamy had cut his shirt away, improvised a lash from a seatbelt, and set to beating the answer out of him. Clarke thought she was horrified when the first strike fell, she knew she should be. But when Bellamy had pushed her out of the way and continued his ministrations, that hadn’t been horror she was feeling. The thrill inside her every time he pulled his arm back, her eyes tracing the ark of the buckle, watching the skin it hit to see how long it would take for a mark to show… At the time she hadn’t been able to acknowledge it, but the darkness knows now that she had been envious, and that’s when it had awoken.

She doesn’t know who she was envious of, though. Did she want to be the Grounder, tied up and whipped and completely at the mercy of her captor? Or did she want to be Bellamy, in control of the whip, a body in front of her that was hers to pleasure or to punish, unable to resist or reject her? She notices someone approaching her, but doesn’t bother to see who it is.

“Deep in thought, princess?” Of course it’s Bellamy. The beast inside her rears its head, straining towards him. She wants to hurt him, devour him, be used by him, be destroyed by him. She wants passion. She wants to be Bellamy and the Grounder, the user and the used, the pleasure and the pain. She stops and turns to him before responding.

“Mmm.” An affirmative hum is all she gives him, her mind occupied with images of him tied up and bruised and begging for more. Of his hands around her neck, letting her know that he has the power over her very life. She swipes her tongue over her bottom lip slowly, noting his eyes tracking the movement hungrily.

“Care to tell me the topic of those thoughts?” The question is benign enough, but the tone of his voice and the fact that it’s slightly lower than his earlier question makes the beast inside her purr with satisfaction. A lick of her lips, a look of her eyes, and one simple hum have affected him this much. She wants to see how much she can push, how hot she can get him before he can’t hold himself back any more. She wants to see what happens when he doesn’t hold himself back at all.

“What I want.” She takes a step closer to him, dragging her eyes over his body. His tanned skin would be harder to mark than her own pale complexion, she bets. How hard would she have to hit? How many hits could he take?

“And what’s that?” His voice rumbles through the air between them, and she can see his chest rise a little faster as she closes the gap between them. She does so agonizingly slowly, the beast within her demanding she pounce and tear him to shreds, but also enjoying the decadent feast of lust in his eyes as they roam over her. She places a hand in the middle of his chest, slowly trailing her fingers down his sternum.

“Oh, you know, typical princess stuff. I want everyone to survive the winter, want to build a society, all that… stuff.” She holds his eyes with hers, a wicked smile playing on her lips as her fingers reach the hem of his shirt and slip under just enough for the tip of a fingernail to drag along his skin.

“Really? I guess I should let you get back to that then.” She knows he’s teasing her, trying to get her to admit she wants him. He thinks two can play at her game, but she knows she’ll win in the end. She wraps her arms around his neck and drags him down so her lips are hovering near to his ear. She feels electricity course through her body as he grabs her hips fiercely, his grip almost bruising. But almost won’t do, not if she’s going to get what she wants. And she will.

“I guess so.” Her breath is hot on his ear as she lowers her arms and breaks free of his grasp. Without looking at him, she starts to walk back to camp. When she’s almost at the edge of the small semi-clearing they were in, she calls back over her shoulder, “I’ll be in the drop ship, if you want to help me… get what I want.”

She hears the curse he mutters and grins to herself. Tonight, the princess is going to be both the queen and the prisoner. Tonight, she going to get exactly what she wants from him. She imagines everything she’ll do to him, everything he’ll do to her. Clarke keeps her mind occupied in this fashion until she reaches the drop ship. She climbs the ladder and throws open the hatch to the room where it all started. The Grounder had escaped a few days ago, but the room was surprisingly not empty. Raven and Octavia spring apart when she bursts in and start stammering out explanations, but she doesn’t give a shit.

“Get the fuck out.” She growls, and they comply eagerly. 

Clarke leaves the hatch open behind her and walks to where the Grounder had been suspended during his time with them. The ropes are still there, and so is some of the blood he had spilled on the grates. She strokes the ropes lovingly, imagining them biting into her wrists, holding Bellamy at her mercy. She hears the scuff of boots on the rungs of the ladder, but she doesn’t turn. Clarke knows it will be Bellamy. The hatch closes with a hollow thud and she hears a box sliding across the floor to cover it.

“Well, aren’t you the eager helper?” She teases him, her voice low and sultry. His boots thud across the floor towards her and a smile tugs at the corner of her lips as he stops behind her, so close she can feel him even though they’re not touching. She knows he’s looking, imagining, wanting, but he’s not touching. Not yet.

“What if I told you what I really wanted?”

“You mean we’re not here to build a society? Damn.” His breath stirs her hair and she lets out a low chuckle.

“Afraid I may have slightly mislead you. I was thinking on the way back here, and that seems so overrated and boring. I want a little… fun. Don’t you think we deserve that?”

“Fuck yes.” He practically moans, and Clarke feels that delicious power again at the fact that he’s losing, breaking under her teasing.

“Don’t you want to know what kind of fun?” She receive a groan in reply and smiles as she continues, “I’ll take that as a yes. What I want is something only you can give me.”

She turns to him, wanting to see his reactions. The beast within her growls in pride at how wrecked he looks already. His lips are parted, breath gusting quickly over them. His eyes are greedy and lustful, his hands balled in tight fists at his sides to restrain himself. Her predatory smile grows as she resumes her speech.

“I want _everything_. Everything you’ve been afraid to try, everything you’ve been afraid to want, everything I’ve been afraid to like. I want your angry, your ugly, your pain, your pleasure. I want you to use me and fuck me. I want you to mark me and make me yours and ruin me. Think you can help me with that?”

Bellamy doesn’t respond with words, but she didn’t really want him to anyway. His fists unclench and this time the grip on her hips is bruising as he pulls her to him. Their lips crash together and it’s not pretty or soft or perfect. Their teeth clack together and it hurts, but Clarke presses harder against him. She sucks his lower lip into her mouth and bites down hard, earning a gasp and a sharp smack on the ass. She grins for a moment before he reclaims her lips, a quick lick prompting her to open her mouth to him. When he fucks his tongue into her mouth, Clarke tastes blood. She doesn’t know who it belongs to, but she moans at the coppery blossom of flavour.

Clarke grabs the collar of his shirt in both hands and throws him against one of the pillars as hard as she can. She hears his breath leave him in a huff and takes a moment to drink in the sight of him breathless and flushed. She stalks toward him and rips his shirt up and off of him, greedily devouring the sight of his muscles. She can’t help but think how much prettier he would be with bruises painting him, or scars rippling over those abs. She traces her finger over his muscles lightly, starting at his waistband and meandering up. She then reverses the trip, digging her fingernails in cruelly and relishing the groan that tears its way out of his mouth.

“You like that, don’t you?” She presses her body against him, whispering into his ear and lightly tracing her tongue over the shell of it before biting at his earlobe, “You like the teasing, like the pain. You want more, don’t you?”

Bellamy surprises her by replying, “Yeah, but I seem to remembering something else mentioned earlier that I want even more right now.”

“What’s that?” She purrs into his ear. The next thing Clarke knows, she’s reversed places with Bellamy and the cool steel of the pillar is seeping through her shirt. His expression is menacing and exciting, promising her what she wants.

“I believe you said something about marking, taking, fucking, and ruining.” He looms over her, the power in his muscles never as evident to her as it is in that moment.

“I do seem to recall something like that.” 

“Good.” It’s more a growl than a word, and with it Bellamy pulls her shirt off with a rough yank. He fumbles with her bra for a second before growling again and pulling out his knife to cut the offending garment off. The blade it so cool on Clarke’s skin, and her breath catches in her throat as she imagines it tracing her skin, biting into her flesh, leaving trails of crimson beauty in its wake. Her eyes lock on the blade and she bites her lip, desire coursing through her like a river of lava.

“God, you’re a kinky bitch, aren’t you?” She glances at Bellamy and nods, his question more of a statement. There’s no revulsion or confusion in his voice, though, only desire. Her eyes go back to the knife as she feels it moving over her skin.

The silver blade traces her ribs, just barely making contact with her skin. Clarke holds onto the pillar behind her, the tease of the blade making her knees go weak with desire. Bellamy drags it over her breasts, circling the tip around her nipples and drawing strings of breathy curses and moans from her. He slides it up further, resting it just below her collarbone.

“What if I were to press? To mark that pretty skin of yours? Do you want to bleed for me?” 

Clarke’s back arcs at his suggestion, desperate for it. He chuckles and leans in, still holding the blade so lightly against her skin that it won’t hurt her at all.

“Use your words, and maybe I’ll be nice to you, you kinky little slut.”

She moans, but gathers herself enough to reply, “Please. Mark me, make me bleed. Please.”

He grins and leans back. Both of their gazes lock on the blade as he digs the tip of it in ever so lightly and parallels her collarbone with a thin line. The pain draws another moaned curse from Clarke. The line turns bright red, then crimson as blood begins to bead on the surface on her skin. Her eyes close to savour the bliss of this moment better. Then she feels heat and moisture and opens her eyes to see Bellamy’s mouth attached to her skin. It’s almost too much for her, but he lifts away after a few quick laps and kisses her. It’s slow and deep and dirty and tastes of sin. He trails kisses down her neck as he begins to fiddle with the waist of her pants.

He plants his mouth in the flesh where her shoulder meets her neck and alternates kisses and light nips as he tries to undo her pants one handed. He throws the knife away in order to free that hand, but Clarke hardly notices. The teasing nips on her neck are driving her insane, she needs more.

“Ask and you shall receive.” She must have said some of that out loud, but the reaction it draws is exactly what she wants. Bellamy rests his teeth against her skin for one moment, one last tease, and then bites down. The pain is duller than the knife, but it lasts longer as he grinds his teeth into her flesh. She knows she’ll bear his bruise for days, and that thought sends her over the edge before Bellamy can even get her pants undone. Her fingers claw at the metal behind her and she lets out a shout.

“Fuck, Bellamy!”

She arches against him and then slumps as her orgasm subsides. He chuckles and lowers her to the ground. He traces a thumb along her lips and the smile on his lips makes her tremble with fear and desire. 

“I think it’s my turn now, don’t you?”

“Only… Fair…” She pants slightly. He pushes the tip of his thumb into her mouth and Clarke happily sucks on it. He lets her carry on with that for a moment while he undoes his own pants, dragging his boxers down with them, freeing his cock of their confines. Clarke’s traces it with her eyes and reaches up, but her hand gets smacked away.

“Tsk, greedy girl. No, you see, now I get what I want. And I want to fuck your face, yeah?” He grabs her chin in a surprisingly tender grasp.

Clarke knows she could stop this at any second, but _fuck_ does she ever not want that. So she gives and enthusiastic “Fuck yes” and opens her mouth when he rubs the tip of his cock against her lips. She savours the moan he makes when she takes him deep into her mouth. Then he winds his hand into her hair and she focuses on relaxing her throat and breathing through her nose as he starts to pump his hips.

It’s not comfortable at all, frankly it fucking hurts, but Clarke loves it. She loves the burn, loves being used as a hole to fuck, loves him feeling good. Bellamy’s letting out broken curses and moans, and she knows he’s close. She glances up at him through her eyelashes and catches his eye. He lets out one more groaned “Fuck, Clarke.” and she feels the heat of his cum spilling down her throat. She swallows it all and licks his cock clean as he withdraws from her mouth and slumps to his knees next to her. And he pants and gathers himself after his orgasm, Clarke hunts down her discarded top, tucking the ruined bra into her pocket to mend later.

Bellamy glances up at her as she pulls her shirt back on and she smiles at him.

“Let’s do that again sometime, yeah?” Clarke pushes the box aside and opens the hatch, exiting the drop ship without his reply. She knows his answer, it’s clear in the bruises that match his teeth and the taste of her blood on his tongue. They are animals, they want so much. But she is the princess. And the princess gets what she wants.

**Author's Note:**

> So, yes, I sorta really like dark kink? I also want to work on writing smut and one shots, so this was the result. Edited it quickly, so let me know if I missed any typos. If you want to talk to me, I'm [on tumblr!](http://randommaces.tumblr.com)
> 
> Thanks in advance for reading/commenting/leaving kudos <3


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